


Cobol Thugs

by koushi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crack, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobic Language, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koushi/pseuds/koushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-authored by <a href="http://my-kakistocracy.livejournal.com">my_kakistocracy</a>. What happened to Nash after being disposed of by Proclus Global that day? Who were those thugs tailing Cobb in Mombassa? And most importantly, why do you even care to know? Crack and utter crack with humor that many may find offensive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cobol Thugs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We do not own Inception or any of its characters. And if you're easily offended, please avert your eyes!

**CAST**

Johnny “The Chainsaw” Douglas - Leader of the M&E department of Cobol Engineering

Magnum “Nissan” Johnson - Face flattened by the car door in Mombassa

Don “The Defenestrator” Smith - Once threw some guy out a window

Hieronymous “Pony” Doe - Smart one that used to work for Proclus Global

Nash - Greasy ex-architect who betrayed Cobb and Arthur to Saito

  
**COBOL THUGS**

  
His employee ID card read: Head of Security. But that he provided none of.

He was a tall, muscular man dressed in a casual suit that eclipsed his scars and tattoos. Eyeing the plaques on each of the entrances to Cobol’s countless departments, the son-of-a-gun strode down the infinite corridor. There was Marketing--which boasted too many overcaffeinated whippersnappers from Generation Omega as far as he was concerned—and next the Legal department, a handful of balding bores striving their hardest not to faceplant in their bowls of Ramen. Towards the center of the floor was Engineering proper, the flagship of the organization and consequently an orgy of arrogant assholes. A few conference rooms scattered here and there, the men’s room, and finally, best of all, his own home, of which he was the gloating patriarch.

Johnny stopped in front of the solid wooden door. It looked innocuous enough, but most Cobol employees shuddered involuntarily every time they had to walk past it... or so he liked to think. Stencilled on the door in large embossed script was the acronym of the department that was housed there--and the object of their terror. _M &E_.

He recalled that the new inmate had asked what the letters stood for when he was dragged in, whining and hissing. “Monkeys and Elephants? Mandibles and Earlobes? Milk and Eyogurt?” prisoner 528491 had guessed endlessly, to the agitation of the whole crew. Finally Johnny snapped and backhanded the captive cruelly. In a low growl, he revealed, “ _Murders and Executions_ , my brah... _Murders and Executions_.”

But as the door swung open, a festive sight greeted him. In stark contrast to the storage closet-turned-office-turned-dungeon-waiting room that it actually was, a banner had been draped across the ceiling from corner to corner: _M &E IS YOUR ENEMY_. Someone had even thought to bring in a giant balloon shotgun, and the floor was sprinkled with confetti. _Must have been Nissan or Don_ , he sneered contemptuously, _fucking flamers_.

Nonetheless even the Chainsaw could not conceal the ecstasy in his rock hard heart because today was the day--they’d finally gotten clearance from the higher ups to off the pathetic son of a bitch in the basement holding cell.

But first, he needed a cup of mothafuckin’ joe. It was noon, an early start for someone as busy with badassery (i.e. drinking lethal doses of Jack Daniels), as Johnny.

He exited his department and sashayed into the common area, over to the coffee machine next to the watercooler, whereupon Pony caught his gaze.

“Yo, homo. We gonna castrate the rat before we slit his throat or what?” he greeted.

“Why is there a blue tap _and_ a white tap on these water dispensers? Ever figure that out?” Pony asked, ignoring his thuggin’ leader as much as earthly possible and sipping from his white paper cup. He was an ex-Proclus Global employee, signifying that he had made it through grade school _before_ the age of 35. He wasn’t really cut out for M &E, but it was a tough economy and he took what he could get. As soon as his application to Engineering cleared, he’d never have to deal with these people again.

“Dude I come here to unwind, not to debate the meaning of life. Sheesh,” Johnny replied, “I’m fed up with this here feel-o-softical bullshit.”

“Seriously, Pony. Give us a fucking break,” big Don popped in, having returned from a sojourn to the building’s top floor.

“The name’s Hieronymous. And like you’re one to talk, you with your window fetish.” Pony retorted.

“Did he say something? All I heard was, ‘I’m a pussy. The Saw eats hella pussy.’ AW YEAH that was a good one,” Johnny fistpumped and high-fived the flat-faced Nissan, who’d just returned from a nap on a conference room table. Whether it was then in use, he didn’t remember. Or care.

Pony looked thoroughly confused.

“I hope you assmunchers enjoyed my decorations,” Nissan grinned, “because we are PARTYIN’ HARD.”

“Sphincter-robbing faggot,” Johnny muttered under his breath before feigning joviality. “YEAH, let’s get pounding on that basketball player of ours.”

“It’s not _Steve_ Nash; it’s just Nash,” Pony cried, following along, but his words fell upon deaf ears.

One after another the band of brothas marched into the dark and moldy dungeon, where their victim awaited them.

Johnny flipped the light switch with a flourish, and the aging fluorescent bulbs growled to life.

“Hey, look--janitors are on our asses again.” Don ripped down the paper that had been taped haphazardly to the door. It was printed in dark ink and in a font that meant business:

 ****  
 _Valued staff members of M &E department:_  
The dumpsters in Lot C are for recyclables only: paper, glass, and sorted plastics. Please do not dispose of bodies in these receptacles. With your cooperation, we can all make Cobol a more environmentally-friendly workplace.  
Thank you,  
Custodial staff  


“What are they, the fuckin’ Green Police? Well, they can go fuck themselves with a solar panel. We’ve got real work to do.” Johnny cracked his knuckles and surveyed the dingy room. A scrawny man with unkempt hair and prominent ears sat in the corner, sweating profusely, his knees drawn to his chest.

“Lookit what we’ve got here,” he crowed. “You must be Mr. Nash. I’ve read all about you--”

Don coughed.

“--Don’s read all about you and he tells me that you screwed over Cobol twice, and you tried to sell out your friends to Proclus Global. Man, even we wouldn’t try that shit.”

“Yeah,” Nissan agreed. “We may all be certified sociopaths but we’re bros. Like this.” He mashed two fingers together tightly. Pony raised an eyebrow. “We’re the good, the badass... and this guy’s just the fuckin’ ugly.”

“Yeah, you are,” Johnny affirmed to Nash. “But enough about you scum, I’m sure you wanna know just who is gonna splatter your brains all over this wall. Well allow me to introduce myself—“ The humble leader grabbed Nash by the collar and pressed him up against the wall, glaring down at him with maximum menace. “My name is Johnny Douglas, but my friends call me the Chainsaw. You know what my enemies call me?”

He looked as if he expected Nash to throw out a few guesses, but Nash remained silent.

“ _Nothin’_. ‘Cause they’re all _dead_. And you’re next, you wormy little bastard, because I’m the motherfuckin’ Chainsaw. And you know what else I am? _Your worst nightmare_.”

“I don’t see how you can substantiate that.”

“Substit--what? Pony, what the fuck are you on about?”

“I’m only saying, this guy’s been involved in dreamshare, right? So chances are he’s had a buttload of nightmares,” he shrugged.

“Oh yeah? Well I’mma kill this fucker, so how can I not be the worst?”

Nissan looked up from where he was reassembling his gun. “I dunno. I had this dream once that I went to go take a leak and my dick had shrunk like four inches. I’d take my chances with Saw.”

“Fuck, dude. The whole point of this is _intimidation_. If you’re going to suck all the fun out of this I might as well smoke him now.”

“No, no, no!” Nash squeaked, waving his hands manically, “I assure you, I remain _thoroughly_ intimidated!” Johnny swiped a zip tie from his pocket with one hand and deftly caught Nash’s scrawny wrists with the other.

“You should be,” Johnny looped the tie around Nash’s wrists and pulled it tight with his teeth, several of which were cracked or capped with gold. “My crew and I, we’re tough as nails. ‘Cept Pony, he’s a bit of a pussy.” Johnny steered Nash into a folding chair while the small blond man behind him scowled.

“I’m not a pussy. Just because I eat my cornflakes with milk instead of liquid steroids… And my name is Hieronymous, remember? It‘s Greek.” The rest of the men cast him a rather derisive look.

“Uh…Greek for… _well-endowed and homicidal_.” Johnny ignored him.

“So yeah, that’s Pony. And this is Nissan--”

“Fuck, I get hit with a car door once and suddenly I got a new lame nickname? That shit was like a fucking Bentley, anyway.” He stepped toward Nash. “Before Saw took it on himself to rechristen me after a shitty automobile, I was Magnum. Hell, I still _am_ Magnum. Like Dirty Harry’s weapon of choice. And like…Magnum XL.”

The other men rolled their eyes in synchrony.

“What? What? You don’t believe it?” Magnum fumbled with the buckle on his belt, and was stopped by a chorus of “NO!” before he could get any further.

“Oh, fine, then.” he grumbled.

“Hey Don…Don get over here. Have anything to say to this loser before we ice him?”

The large man in the blue suit and swarthy skin who had been leaning against the door looked up. “Yeah. Actually. You know what _defenestrate_ means?”

“Oh god, not this again.”

“Do you?!”

Nash shook his head.

“It means, THROWING SHIT OUT WINDOWS. And I threw a guy out a window, once. Eighth floor of this very building.”

“Isn’t this building only seven stories tall?”

Nissan rolled his eyes. “Six. It gets taller every time Don tells this dumbass story.”

“It’s not dumb, that guy hit the sidewalk so hard he practically _exploded_. Brains and guts EVERYWHERE.” His eyes glinted manically. “Maybe I’ll do that to you.” He gestured toward Nash.

“This room doesn’t have any windows,” offered Nash helpfully. “Maybe if you untie me and take me upstairs…through the hallway that passes the exit…?”

“Nice try, buddy,” Johnny snarled. “The Saw sees right through you. My IQ is probably like 90 or something. That’s practically a _genius_ , man. I know an escape attempt when I see one.”

“90 would actually be a few points below ave--”

“Pony. You want to be in this chair instead of Shaggy here? ‘Cause I can make that happen.”

He sighed. “Whatever.”

Johnny rolled up his sleeves, revved up, and punched Nash in the face, hard. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

“Ugh, god, what was that for?” he whined.

Johnny breathed in heavily. “Me, mostly. I feel like such a _man_ right now.” He wound up for a second punch. Nash recoiled and spoke hastily.

“Wait! Wait! I…I don’t know Saito’s plans. I mean, I know that’s what you wanted. But, uh…Cobb knows? I know were Cobb hangs out. I can lead you to him. Oh, oh wait! I know where Arthur’s mother lives! He has a baby sister! You guys are such _excellent_ kidnappers, really. I mean, _first rate_. I’m sure you could grab them and rough them up a bit…Arthur would find it persuasive, I’m sure!”

Johnny grinned viciously. “You flatter me, Nash. But I’m afraid my lust for senseless violence is greater than my need to actually further whatever Cobol Engineering’s evil hole-filled plot is. At least, for the moment.”

Johnny raised his fist again. Nash cowered and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yo,” Johnny yelled, “What the fuck, we’re busy beating the shit out of some asshole, can it wait?”

The door creaked open, and a hand appeared, clinging to a large paper bag printed with palm trees.

“The other guys went to In-N-Out, thought we’d pick some up for you guys. I know how hungry you get when you knock the shit out of people.”

“Aww, hell yes!”

The greasy-haired ex-architect was quickly brushed aside in favor of even greasier fare. Johnny swiped the bag greedily from his co-worker’s hand and passed its contents out among the group as proudly as if he’d personally walked the 600 yards to the burger joint.

“No, no, I need the one without pickles. I’m allergic to them,” Pony sighed in exasperation, trying to trade with Don.

“Fucking pussy,” Johnny chided, with his mouth already visibly full of mashed golden fries. He sucked and licked his fingers with loud oily pops.

“Why do you always call me a pussy? I’m not a pushover…I mean look at Nissan over there.”

“GUYS SHUT UP. IT WASN’T A NISSAN. It was like…motherfuckin’ Lamborghini.”

“I thought you said it was a Bentley?”

“Uh yeah…wait which one costs more? ‘Cause it was that one.”

“Psh, like you would know? All you saw of that car was the paint job on its door,” Don added, resisting the ever-present urge to reference his favorite window and beginning to eat. He dug his canines into the burger in his hand, sesame seeds pelting the floor like rain, bits of bacon hailing to the pavement.

“What the fuck ever, brah. Don’t forget the time the Chainsaw stuck it to this cocksucker named Rod Green from Marketing. Little bitch didn’t wake up that morning expecting an evis... eclis... ecisvertation,” said Johnny, mayonnaise sticking to his upper lip like a milk mustache.

“You’re such a dumbass, Johnny,” Pony corrected, rolling his eyes. “It’s ‘evisceration’.”

“Yeah? Oh yeah?” the Chainsaw replied. He crossed his arms smugly, looking as if he had delivered the most witty of comebacks. “Well you’re just a big dick.”

“You wanna talk about big dicks? Biggest dick in this room is right here,” Nissan jabbed his chest with a grease-coated thumb. “Need I remind you of the Magnum XLs clogging the third floor bathroom last week?”

“I thought that was just the runs,” grinned Don, taking another savory bite of his dripping burger, fingers soaked in tomato juices.

Nash didn’t think he could lose his appetite any more than he already had, but this group really had a talent for inducing nausea. He wanted to slowly slink away from the oral carnage but had a feeling his ninja skills were likely to be subpar. Instead he merely dodged flecks of ketchup coming at him from all directions, hoping to preserve _some_ sort of dignity.

“Speaking of things that cause diarrhea, what about that squint-eyed bastard?” Johnny asked.

“Saito?” Nissan offered.

Pony rolled his eyes.

“No, the corny one... ummm... Cobb, yeah that’s it. Why didn’t you catch him in the café, slowmo?” he demanded, turning to Don.

“I was fucking distracted, kid. There were so many buildings but none tall enough to give a proper defenestration. It was like a parallel universe where tossing people out of windows _isn’t_ the coolest thing ever,” the ruddy man raised his grease and salt encrusted hands in defense.

"Yeah, okay, but THEN HE WAS STUCK BETWEEN TWO FUCKING WALLS AND YOU COULDN'T CATCH UP?"

"This shit never happened in Halo, I swear. I mean I thought the dude was experiencing some kind of graphics glitch until I realized we were in reality."

“Wait. That was your special ops training?” Nissan wondered with surprise.

“...Yeah, so?”

“Oh. Mine was Call of Duty.” The Thug Formerly Known as Magnum slurped smugly on his shake, with the aid of a frosted red-and-white straw.

“You’re not going to get all elitist on us now, are you? Fucking metal-eating punk,” Johnny growled, a few chunks of congealed meat-bread issuing from his lips. “The Chainsaw murdered enough noobs in his Mortal Kombat days to make General Mills shake in his boots.”

“That isn’t a person-” Pony started, but he’d realized by then the helplessness of his case.

“Forget all that. You remember what they called the ninth floor after I was through with it?” Dramatic pause. “The _Killing_ Grounds.”

“FUCKING CUT IT OUT, MAN,” Johnny, Nissan, and Pony shouted in unison.

“How many of you can honestly say you threw some other dude out a window? Huh? _Huh?_ I DIDN’T THINK SO.” Don huffed and crossed his arms over his barrel chest, soiling his suit jacket with remnants of his erstwhile meal.

“I bet the Engineering department has,” Nissan groaned. “Those uppity mofos think they’re so smart, like they can do anything. WHATEVER. I never thought the times tables were important, and LO AND BEHOLD, never had to use them once.”

“Yeah, I uh, agree,” Pony coughed, “I would _never_ want to be in Engineering, no way.”

“Pansies, all of them. With their pretty little protractors and paid vacations and actual windows with views in their offices,” Johnny nodded.

A wistful sigh floated into the air from Don’s direction like a used up dryer sheet in the breeze. “ _Windows_...”

“Dude, just... no.” Nissan waved dismissively in Don’s general direction. “We don’t need windows down here anyway. What if cops and shit saw what goes on down here? We’d be toast.”

“Nah, Cobol’d pay ‘em off. They’ve got shitloads of cash.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Cheap bastards won’t even look at my requi--requer...the thing you fill out to ask for new tools.”

“Requisition?” Pony offered. “But... weren't you issued a new gun like two weeks ago?”

“Yeah, but I need the other stuff, little things. Like pliers and shit. The pair I’ve got now is so shitty they can’t even properly detach a fingernail.”

Nash blanched.

“Don’t worry.” Pony said brightly. “You aren’t trying to keep vital information from us, so nothing of this sort will be necessary. We’re just supposed to off you so the company maintains its shady and highly dangerous image,” he slurped his soda noisily, took a few bites of the hamburger and continued with his mouth full.

“Saw? His bark can be worse than his bite. I’m sure when he finally gets around to it, it will be relatively quick and painless.” He wiped his free hand on his pants, and reached over to the back of Nash’s head, brushing away the hair and tapping his finger twice against the base of his skull.

“Right here. One shot. Severs the brain stem. You probably won’t even feel it.” he patted Nash’s head soothingly.

“PONY. STOP TRYING TO REASSURE OUR VICTIM.”

Nash gulped, “I swear, I am _not_ reassured!”

Pony scooted the box of fries over towards Nash. “Fries? Since, you know, you’re not going to live very long, you don’t even have to feel guilty about all the cholesterol!”

Nash looked down at his lap, where his hands were still bound together with the plastic tie.

“Oh. Oh well. If I cut these off, will you try anything stupid?”

Nash looked around, seemingly trying to calculate if Stupid Things would do him any good. The men all scowled at him. The lettuce hanging out of Johnny’s mouth did nothing to blunt the menace. In the corner, Don the Defenestrator made eye contact and mouthed--

“ _win-dow_.” He held up nine fingers. “ _Nin_ -” He looked down at his hand and raised the remaining finger. “ _tenth floor_.”

It seemed that the old adage was quite correct.

Resistance was futile. But if he didn’t at least try--?

“N-no, I wouldn’t _dream_ of it,” Nash assured Pony. “And...um...yes, I would quite like some fries, so if you could...”

Pony produced a pearl-handled pocketknife and prepared to sever Nash’s restraints.

Johnny blew a proverbial gasket.

“Fuck it, Pony! You are _not_ releasing the prisoner, and you are sure as hell not letting the prisoner eat any of my fries! I am sick of these pansy-ass moments of yours, dude. Don’t you want to be promoted to a Five Ninja Star member of the crew?”

The Chainsaw whirred up and pushed Pony aside, knocking him against the wall. “Now _this_ is how an M &E rep, a testistern... tiestrone... fuck it, a real man with balls, does the job!”

Digging his transfat-coated fingers into Nash’s neck for a better grip, he forced his head back. Then, brandishing his newly requisitioned pistol from his shoulder holster, the gang leader slowly ran the barrel along Nash’s twitching Adam’s Apple, down to his bony chest, and then finally pointed directly at his junk.

“How would you like to suffer... by transforming from Steve into Kate Nash before your imminent demise?” The dry click of metal against metal.

“Wait!” Nash shrieked.

“What now? You feelin’ lucky... _punk_?” Nissan interrupted, ready to wet himself at the prospect of mimicking his hero.

Johnny flashed a vicious grin to his compatriots.

“Oh, look, it looks like this little rat doesn’t want to bleed out today. Is that right? Awww…” his voice dripped with mock pity. “That’s really too bad, because down in M&E we don’t do last minute pardons.”

Nash’s eyes darted frantically from one of his captors to the next. The men all looked on hungrily, except for Pony, who had shut his eyes and turned away.

“I just--I don’t--I--um--”

The Chainsaw dragged Nash from the chair by his hair, shoved him to his knees, and pressed the gun to the back of his head. “Fine, I’ll grant you _some_ dignity, ya little pillowbiter. You keep your manhood... but indulge me. I want to hear you beg for your pathetic life. I’m a fucking sadist. I _love_ shit like that.”

“Um…well…I just thought--”

“Go ahead, out with it! You have a wife, kids that are gonna miss their daddy? You didn’t _mean_ to screw over my employers? You wanted another NBA Championship ring? Come on, I thought you’d be good at this!”

“…dessert!”

Chainsaw’s psychotic smile faltered. “Wait, what? You want dessert?”

“No,” Nash said, looking hopefully up into this tormentor‘s face. “But you do, don’t you? All those salty fries, stuck in your gut? All that savory, now you need some sweet, right? To cap off the meal?”

“The only thing that’s getting capped around here is _you_!” Nissan said angrily, but his stomach rumbled its approval. _Mr. Eastwood would be ashamed_ , he pouted dejectedly.

“There’s a coffee cart upstairs,” Johnny mused. Nash felt the pressure of the gun against his skull lessen. “They sell cookies and sundaes and shit. Sounds kinda good right now.”

Johnny lowered the gun. “Okay, guys. Quick dessert break. But when we come back, your brain’s still got a date with that wall.”

Nash nodded hurriedly and smiled morbidly as if he was looking forward to it.

“Pony, you comin’?” Pony hastily rose from where he was crouching near Nash’s feet, pawing at some of the empty burger wrappings.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Don looked as if he could barely contain himself, his prodigious belly heaving over his belt. “Upstairs! How big are the windows up there? I’m bringing my measuring tape, just…collecting data, in case we decide to--”

“NO--” the rest of the men answered together. The door slammed shut behind them.

Nash looked around, mind reeling. Something near his foot caught his eye--the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting glinting off metal.

It was a shimmering pocketknife, one with a handle made of iridescent pearl.

On the wall directly behind it, someone had hastily scrawled a message in what looked to be mayonnaise and grease--

 _GOOD LUCK_.


End file.
